


catching fairytales in your smile

by RookieBrown



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Romance, Wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:32:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RookieBrown/pseuds/RookieBrown
Summary: Clexa Wedding AU.or that fic depicts what Clexa should have been, what every Clexa fans deserved.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll be writing any more of this fandom. I don't really know but all I know it that I had to right this story and get it out, somehow.
> 
> High Hopes by Kodaline.

 

She leans against the white bench, fists clenched circumventing the chest of her heart. Eyes shut tight. She sits knee folded, the hem of her white wedding dress now timber and dark from the mud of the ground.

 

“Baby? You ok?” You scramble to your feet past the church doors and an aghast tux-ed Lincoln standing out from your ear-spot. You run to her, stopping only inches short when she becomes aware of your presence and turns around from you.

 

“You shouldn’t see the bride-to-be before the wedding, Clarke.” She clips out impossibly slow. You can feel the pang in her chest, the clog of her lungs and the bite on her inner cheeks. “Bad luck.” She bites out.

 

You nod, smilingly. Almost. Before pulling the bottom of your own white gown and closing in onto her, nuzzling your nose at the groove of her neck. Another apologize is on your lips, hanging mercilessly low to slip out because you are terrified at the sudden outbreak of her panic attack – when it had been years since the last one. And having one here, _today,_ just standstills the thudding of your heart muscles.  

 

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”

 

And you start counting, the docile and soft intake and outtake of breathe of hers.

 

You wrap your arms around her thin waist and chastely kiss the baby hairs clinging on her neck line. You can think of a lot of things at that precise moment, little things – or maybe a bigger things like how the 150 people your mother had invited might be ransacking their minds for any probable causes for the brides to not be getting married – maybe your mother is probably tearing every single hair of Raven’s in search of an definitive answer – maybe Octavia is fighting Lincoln to come to her best friend’s aid – maybe, maybe. A lot of maybe’s.

 

But you don’t give them any importance.

 

They are not as important nor half as beautiful as the woman just breathes apart from you, empty dried stains hanging in those mascara ruined green eyes. You think she’s still the prettiest girl you have ever seen even though you have yet to actually see her in her whites.

 

“All right there, Lex?” You coo against her little red ears.

 

 She had yet to turn around.

 

“Yes.” She heaves. “Yes.” A bit more firm, she says. “I just wish they were here. Mama. Papa. Costia. But - ” She has such high hopes in her voice that waters your insides. It’s been so many, many years since – but. But, there’s always this _but_ to let it go and start again. Its odd how some memories – they just stay there, like tangible ghosts in your shadows.

 

“I miss them so much and seeing everyone – everyone out there, I just panicked.” Your wife to be relaxes her bod against your sudden stiff back at the remembrance of by gone faces. “I’m sorry for causing a scene out there.”

 

“Never ever be. It’s our wedding. You can cause as many scenes as you want as long as I’m promised you are going to be mine at the end of the day.” You tangle a tussled strand of her fallen out hair in your fingers, and smile against her cracked watery cheeks.

 

“We can always elope, you know.” You casually play out. “The car’s at the back. Raven and O can be our runaway drivers. And Lincoln will hold off the crowds, just in case. We can go to Vegas, maybe Florida, I heard California is nice around this time, get a minister, and get drunk and be heavily married, away from this maddening crowd. Just us, baby. Just us.”

 

She laughs benignly soft under the silver tinder beams of a winter spring morning in that TonDC church.

 

“You have thought a lot?” Viridescent eyes sparkle centristically against yours.  

 

“Well, you make me dream with open eyes, Mrs. Woods.”

 

“Your mother would kill me, Clarke. If we eloped. And to think I spent the last 4 years sucking up to her endless wails only for me to be overnight murdered in some field.”

 

She laughs huskily against the lashes of her tears and you can’t help but string along with her. Except.

_Except._

 

“To get to you, my mother has to go through me first though.” You say it sarcastically, but the slight hefty undertone, _I’ll always choose you_ reached her nonetheless.

 

A promise.

 

You sit out with her against the sands of time of your own wedding, hands running cautious circles on her exposed velvety skin of hers and all that while you only think of her and of _them._ You don’t know much about them, except from those trinkets of times memories had spilled like tears down her eyes. Only those times. You counted each one, every small smile that cascaded her mouth when she told you about _them._ About _her._

 

You try not too but your mind wanders still.

 

About that toothless smile of eight year old brunette girl driving home from her friend’s birthday party with her parents only to be eternally diving into that unknowing highway of darkness when a truck t-boned them.

 

You try not to think about that orphaned girl and her colorless, life bereft eyes.

 

You try not to think about _Costia Greene._ Her Costia. _Cos._ The girl with bright doe eyes against dark tanned skin, who wore hope like a crown. That girl who lived to love too hard and died too young.

 

A slow wetness trespassed your skies but you would die before you let them fall – let them be seen by her. Not today. Not today of all days, you promise to yourself.

 

Moments pass, when you feel an intrusion in your solace.

 

“You all better not be planning to elope without taking your maid of honors with you, Clarkey.” Your best friend leans against the wooded porch, a light timid smile marring with a too familiar concern coloring her cheeks as she gazes past you to her. Lexa.

 

“And suffer the wrath of0 Raven Reyes? Never.” Lexa jabs loud enough for her to hear as Rae closes in, the pitch of her laughter catching up.

 

“Still getting married?” Raven askes somberly.

 

“Always.”

 

She answers before you. You smile against her ribs. There’s a seconds pause and a mumble before the body in front of you shuffles and slowly gets up from the grassed ground.

 

“No peeking, Clarkey.”

 

“Don’t look up, babe.”

 

Comes simultaneous replies from both of them. Your lips quirk up, and the thin line spreads all over your face. Your eyes are curtain shut but you feel the incessant warmth of hers slowing distancing from you.

 

She walking barefoot of the dew wet grass against Raven’s clinking heels.

 

“I can’t wait to marry you, _Alexandria._ ” You exhale your utmost wish behind closed lids.

 

“Me too, baby. Me too.” She says shyly and you are sure she’s blushing. Standing there, you count the last moments, picturizing how rosy her cheeks gets when she indeed blushes.

 

There’s a curse tongue and a pause and yet another pull before she leaves, with Raven leaving you with a _sometimes I curse the day I had told you to woman up for once and date her back in college_ – a long huff and a – _I love you guys soo much._ The passing words of Raven’s wistful to your eyes.

 

You all have come a long way indeed.

It was bouquet of chrysanthemum and gardenias, mushing with white lilacs in between that’s clasped onto your hand as you watch Lexa walking up to the alter with Lincoln - smiling nostalgically, as green eyes peers once more to her foster brother before the big man bear hugs his little commander too tenderly. She looks so small against his frame, molting and gripping his linen tux as he presses a longingly kiss on her forehead.

 

You had promised this man, not O’s boyfriend but Lexa’s brother, of looking after his sister like she’s your own heart. _She is your own heart._

When Lincoln sits himself down, Lexa stands by the minister, beside her maid of honor Octavia Blake, plating the crinkles on her muddy white dress.

 

Waiting for you.

 

 

 

You have never been a religious girl. You were once but then was that time when your mom and dad got divorced and you lost faith in happily ever after-s. You were ten back then, all blue eyes and chubby cheeks and all that baby fat. It happened on a regular school night of yours when the world of yours tilted on its axis.

 

You heard screaming and shrieks from the dining room. These fights between your parents had been coming around the corners too often than you had liked but they had always smiled and had promised you _sometimes adults disagree and they fight._

 

They didn’t mean anything until they did. Until the calm and soft spoken character like your dad just drove his fist on the wall and your mom, still in her hospital scrubs was tearing down on the table.

 

Your dad, Jake, he left Arkadia for Michigan, moved on with his life rather too fast to your liking, leaving behind you and your mom and those many pieces that you could never glue back together.

 

 

 

“Darling?” Your mother voice rings you out of your reverie. “It’s time.”

 

You look up at your reflection a final time, trying to bubble wrap the vacancy, the tightening in your chest but Abby catches them too soon, too quick.

 

You and your mother were now like those leftover luggage of your dad’s new life. It was understandable to some small point, but it pinched your insides none the less.

 

“You look so beautiful, my little princess.” She says instead wrapping herself around you, sniffling and tearing in light tears, every single one of which you meet halfway. She pulls a silver chain from the fringes of her purse, encasing the blue pearls around your neck.

 

“Your grandma gave it to me. I improvised a bit though. Traditions.” She grinning against her ruddiness. “Be happy, Clarke.”

 

It’s supposed to be your father’s job – walking you down the aisle to your happily ever after. That’s what you had always dreamt in hindsight. But standing right there, in front of a sobbing red pint-ed Abby Griffin, you realize you have all you ever wanted. You have enough.  _More than enough._

 

“Walk me down the aisle, Mom?”

 

 

 

She wasn’t your first friend.

Nor your first kiss.

She wasn’t your first time either.

Nor had she been your first relationship.

Or your first love.

She wasn’t your first anything.

 

 

 

You strain your eyes up to meet hers. Standing there, in a pandemonium of seated guests, her eyes, they remind of that water colored painting you did. Too much water along the green flecks. Sublime. Enchanting. _Yours._

 

Your lips lift upward, aligning perfecting your dimpled crinkles.

 

“I’m used to not believe in soulmates. Long overdue, you know. And I didn’t just fall in love with you. I walked into that love with you with my eyes wide open choosing to take every step along the way.” You try to swallow the ever-glow she brings out of you, back-staging those yellow nerve wrecking days.

 

“And today, here I’m because you made me believe. In magic. In us. I see these vows, not as promises but a privileges, to spend a lifetime with you. In front of family and friends and as the lord as witness, I swear eternal fealty to you, _Alexandria Anya Woods._ With this ring, I give you my heart. I promise to love all your quirks, to not ramble too much and to wash the dishes when you are cooking. I promise to say I’m sorry first and to never hold onto hurt. I promise from this day forward you won’t walk alone. May my heat be your shelter, my arms your home.”

 

 

 

_Your first friend – well, she’s now your best friend. Raven Reyes. Lean. Brunette. Small. Engineer. And a heroine of her own empty childhood story. It just took a fist and a broken lip to become friends. It was bound to be last long, it had been sealed with blood after all._

_Your first kiss was – Jaha Junior. Wells Jaha. A boy in your arts class. You were 15, sitting out the final moments of your curfew on a school night in his car. And he had kissed you. A small peck, light and too fast gone._

_Your first time was with your long time boyfriend, Finn Collins. Popular. Jock. Nice. Charming. And good enough to sleep with him. He was good at sex. Warm. Familiar but against odds you didn’t feel that unblemished, insatiable spark that you had read in those love stories. Even now you can’t recall how many times you had laughed at your own foolishness – whenever you recall that time when you had found your said boyfriend in bed with another._

_It was vein constricting in the very least._

_Sounds cliché but then you met her._

_You met her._

_And it felt like Renaissance._

_Her eyes._

_Her nose._

_Her lips._

_Her jaw._

_Her hair._

_Her freckles._

_Her smile._

_Her nothing, yet everything._

_It was scary, what her smile hid. The dents and scratches that she dodged from you. Until she didn’t. Until you touched them and made them your own._

You try to keep the water reeking about the fringes of your robs as long as you can. But Lexa’s glistened brightly, metallically. The sclera surrounding the glittering black onyx was clear. Pristine. Untouched by red, _almost,_ as they peer humane into you.

 

“You make me feel beautiful even when I’m a mess.” In gentle firmness the book editor holds you still in her gaze, but the soft confession rings conundrums inside you. “I don’t know if you remember of that time when we met– before - Octavia officially introduced us. It was on that campus café and you were – you were wearing that gay pride t-shirt and those jean shorts, headphones tugged around your neck – “

 

Her words slacken to a halt at you blushed _I remember,_ before continuing “ - and you were carrying this – all of the art stuff and your backpack and that gigantic painting, which was hideous by the way, I just knew I had to help you. Maybe it was something about the way you swore at that guy who tried to flirt with you or maybe it was because of the paint glued on your fingers, across your shin like second skin.”

“But you ended fisting right through the painting. Which was a classic by the way.”

 

The chuckle fled roughly and fast from your throat settling on her lips. “You were falling and I choose saving your sweet ass than the painting. Which was very hideous.”

 

Your _it was_ got lost under her _I love you so much._

 

“It sounds cliché but I think I fell in love with you a little bit that day. and I believe, because of you, somewhere along the lines I felt myself slowly becoming the one I had always dreamt to be.” An inflated sigh leaves her lips as a silent rivulet slips down her cheeks.  

 

“I swear eternal fealty to you, _Clarke Abigail Griffin._ I promise to love you fiercely, now and forever. To never take you for granted, to always hold you in tenderness, in sickness and health. To have the patience that love demands, to speak when words are needed and share silence together. I promise you no matter the differences that might set us apart, we’ll always find our way back to each other.”

 

The aftertaste was settled too sugary in your blood and under wishes of _forever_ , rings were exchanged.

 

 

 

You peer your tired happy eyes as the titanium band pearled with diamond buds. Her hands clasped securely around the contours of your waist, wild un-maned hair sizzling against the bridge of your nose.

 

The band’s playing _Wings._ The piano beats coiling seamlessly well with the violinist as the female guitarist belts out the words.

 

You mouth the lyrics under your breathe and somewhere in singing out those words, you pull back and engorge the melty amiable velvetiness of hers, tongue sweeping over the plumped lips.

 

“I’m sorry he didn’t come.” She says, inked eyes searching in yours. She tastes of expensive champagne, and red velvet cake.

 

You give her an intermittent pause. You take your time and instead you flicker your eyes across the reception hall. O’s dancing drunkenly well, intoxicated steps mismatching with Lincoln’s too many times. It’s not before long when Raven detaches herself from her bodily groping some guy and joining O and Lincoln for some weird tangoing.

 

And then, at the distant corner you see the silhouette of your mother. In unbraided hair with her blonde hair swept over her shoulder she dances with Marcus Kane, smiling bright under the bright lights. You forget when was the last time she laughed something akin to that- free.

 

And finally, you stop at her. You look up to her, running your hand through her hair, letting it slip through. “All of my family is right here with me.”

 

_You have more than enough._

 

She smiles small, buxom lips swollen from your kissing and still can’t get enough.

 

“My parents would have love you so much.”

 

She says an umpteenth time, eyes stuck solely on the pink flesh of your lips, but it doesn’t get old. It only concentrates in your veins more deep in you.

 

She kissed you there. Soft and slow. Caressing your cheeks with her thumbs, breasts curved tightly against each other as she devoured your soul.

 

She tasted like your future.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a novice dabbler of words here, at best. and honestly I would love to hear if you liked it or not.


End file.
